


Sailing Close to the Wind

by the_adorable_spiderman (typewritergirl98)



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Michelle Jones, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Good Peter, Hurt Michelle Jones, Hurt/Comfort, I Love You, Implied Sexual Content, Protective Peter Parker, Scared Peter Parker, Threats, dangerous reporting, heroic michelle jones, michellle is in danger, scared michelle jones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 09:03:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19353802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/typewritergirl98/pseuds/the_adorable_spiderman
Summary: Leave!_________Please...Me!_________Don't...Alone!_________Go...





	Sailing Close to the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt request from tumblr. An anon requested from a prompt list : "Leave! Me! Alone!"  
> This is what came out of that and I had a lot of fun writing it. This is the first time I've written any implied/sexual content so be aware hahaha. It's really not explicit, but it is very much implied so be warned. Anyways! I love you all and if you wanna let me know your thoughts at the end of this fic I love hearing from all of you! You guys are great!

* * *

"Pieces of shit! Leave! Me! Alone!" The roar cut up her throat, taking the air from her lungs. Michelle wrenched off the pocket-watch hanging by a rusted nail from her apartment door. She pitched it at the ground before promptly stomping on the watch face. The crunch of metal and glass under the pressure of her boot satisfied her. Observing the crushed remains of the clock, Michelle growled. This was the third timepiece she found nailed to her apartment door this month. And, her desk at work was teeming with unfulfilled, threatening notes.

She kicked the broken pieces of the watch with vigor. They skidded into a dark corner of the hallway. "Jesus! These assholes are such cowards. All the notes—the creepy phone calls...Jesus, I swear I'd be frightened if they actually followed through with any of their goddamn threats." She tilted her head back, filling the space of the hallway with her voice. Maybe the flickering fluorescent lights were bugged. Maybe they were listening to everything she said. Or, maybe she was just paranoid.

With anger bleaching her flesh, the noxious words were unstoppable.  "You hear that you pieces of shit? Either leave me the hell alone or make good on your promises and— "

A sweaty palm clapped over her mouth, cutting her off. Instinctively, Michelle licked it, tasting salt and the tang of lemon. Peter dropped his hand, grimacing at Michelle's thick saliva. "Are you five years old?" He swiped his hand down his khaki pants, his face screwed up in disgust.

"What's your deal, loser?" The anger leached from Michelle, releasing as carbon dioxide from her lips. She gave Peter a sideways glance while she jammed her key into her door. Maybe he would forget her momentary breakdown if she pretended it didn't happen. If she busied herself with her lock, he might not see how frazzled she felt.

The lock always stuck, so she pushed her shoulder into the door. The watermarked boards groaned under the pressure. In one snap of the wrist, the lock turned over and the door swung open. Another annoying thing about her door. The knob didn't work. She had to keep the door locked to keep it closed. Unjamming the lock always meant she pitched two unsteady steps into her apartment when she walked in.

Stumbling into her minuscule living space, she tossed her keys onto her side table. When she glanced back at Peter, he looked as worn as she did. She wasn't sure how she didn't notice it during dinner. Until she realized the clock set him on edge. The ticking meant to signify the last seconds of her life. He never was present when she received threats. He only ever heard about them after the fact. Now his gaze carried unbridled worry as he scanned the pockmarked ceiling and the peeling wallpaper. Searching.

He was looking for other signs. More bad omens.

With a sigh, she camouflaged herself with indifference and took the few remaining steps to Peter. Michelle swung a hand in front of his face, snapping twice before gaining his attention. "I'll repeat my question. What’s your deal, oh weird one?" She walked back to the door. Slamming it shut, she wedged her shoulder into it, flipping the deadbolt over.

She watched Peter's hands sneak into his pockets, bunching his dress shirt around his wrists. Michelle found the action incredibly attractive for no reason at all. She was a sucker for bare forearms.

Swaying on his feet, Peter finally answered. "You can't say stuff like that." His distracted attention landed on her. Nervous energy rolled off him, cutting through her with edged teeth. The tension left a metallic taste on her tongue.

A chill rushed over her skin. She took a step closer to him. Finding his bicep under her hands. The warmth soothed the fraying edges between them. "Is this about that clock?"

It was a stupid question. Of course it was about the clock.

His face remained impassive, only holding a fraction of terror behind brown eyes. Michelle continued, "Don't worry about it. It's just empty threats." Snaking her arms around his stomach, she wanted to believe her own words. If she told herself they were empty threats, she had no reason to fear the consequences of her decisions. 

Peter hissed, short and breathy. It resonated more so in his chest than from his mouth. If she wasn't so close, she wouldn't have heard it. But with his eyes closed, his lips sucked into a straight line, it was obvious her words didn't put him at ease. "But I am worried about it. About you." He said, Eyelashes fluttering. His irises finally appeared behind his lids. The tension in his face melted into that of unmasked anxiety. "They're watching and waiting. And I'm—I'm really worried." He whispered it from the same place in his chest that his heart resided.

Michelle tilted closer, her hands slipping up his arms, laying flat along his stiff shoulder. Pressing her fingers into the hardened muscles, she felt the strain drip away. Sliding down his back, ice thawing, slipping from a melting glacier.

Their foreheads met and the chill of Peter's skin surprised her. He was shaking. The tremble of his hands distinct as they engulfed her waist. "Hey," She breathed the words, finding anything above a whisper too loud in the intimate space. "I'll be fine."

_No._

His body translated the response without the need for words. _No_. She wouldn't be okay.

"Why?" She placed the word in the kiss she pressed against Peter's cheek.

His arms wound tight around her, dragging her against his body. "They know about the article." Warmth from his words bathed her neck. She tilted it enough for Peter to plant a kiss to her jugular. "I can't find them, but I've heard whispers. The Maggia and everyone else involved—they’ll do anything to keep this quiet. At first, they thought they could scare you, but now—" His voice cracked. “They’re warning you that they want you dead. And I-I can't let that happen. You can't—" A drop of something cool, singular, fell where Peter kissed. One tear. His tear. "You can't let that happen. I know you won't stop, and I don't want you to. But I need you safe too..." His words dropped off into more grazes against her skin.

Michelle turned her head, allowing Peter's lips to caress the line of her jaw. Her fingers carded into his hair. Tears blurred against her skin, transferring from Peter's cheek to hers. His chest heaved against her own, sobbing with nothing but breaths from his lips. "What should I do?" She asked the question, even though she knew there were plenty of things she _should_ do. She _should_ leave her apartment. Go somewhere safe, discrete, given that the city’s deadliest mob had a bounty on her head. But at the moment, Michelle didn't want to leave. She didn’t want to think. Not in this moment with Peter's breath, intimate and private, mingling with her own. Leaving was impossible when his hands left whispers on her skin.

As Peter peppered more kisses across her cheeks he replied, "Leave here,” A peck on her jaw. “Go somewhere safe,” A sigh in her ear. “Don't die," He trailed to her lips, kissing each corner before slanting his mouth over hers. "Please."

She opened her mouth to him, her knees buckling against the edge of her bed.

Kissing Peter was the same as wading through a lake. He enveloped her, water molding to her skin. It was a slow kiss, long and lazy. Moving against each other with sweeping motions of their lips. Peter’s tongue caressed her lips. She opened her mouth willingly. Letting everything but him slip away until she was bare.

When Peter’s lips found a pathway past her neck, between the valley of her breasts, Michelle knew he marked her skin with salt. Her own eyes stung with tears. They slid past her temples, into her hair.

She was trapped in a dangerous game. Fear wracked her with heavy blows every day. She investigated everything from drug rings and human trafficking to political scandals and corporate cover-ups. Those articles created a plethora of enemies over the years. Michelle knew there were specific people who might just crack a smile if she died tomorrow. Normally, it was nothing more than an occasional thought. A thought that held no power or fear over her. But this wasn't a small drug lord, or arms dealer. Her article would expose the rich and powerful of New York City.

People had been killed for exposing less.

Exposing child sex trafficking, provided by the Maggia gang and patronized by a number of New York's shining elitists, was more than dangerous. It was the type of story that loaded the gun, cocked it, then waited to see who would fire first. With nothing but a few additional investigative loose ends, the story would be ready in less than a week. Michelle could feel the trigger slowly pulling back, milliseconds from discharging. 

Once the article published the bounty on her head would grow. The ticking clocks outside her door would increase. A faceless gunman could introduce her to death tomorrow. If that was because she publicized the identities of the buyers and sellers of child sex trafficking, she would write that story again.

That didn't mean she wasn't scared out of her mind.

Michelle fell back into the present as Peter traveled lower, leaving burns the shape of his lips on her naked skin. She couldn't remember exactly when she stripped her clothing, but she prayed Peter continued.

He was water, touching every surface. Her labored breathing stemmed from him. Peter deprived her of all oxygen before supplying it again. She felt the tremble of his shoulders between her thighs. The desperate strokes his mouth made. The way his hands clasped her hips. She knew his anxieties echoed her own.

Then melodies were playing. Peter was her reality as she crested. He was everything when she fell apart in a bundle of exposed nerves in his hands.

Peter trailed back up her body, finding her mouth once more. Skin touched skin with cleansing fire. Michelle was reborn with the weight of him pressing into her. As he kissed her—his cheeks now dry and his voice hoarse—he whispered everything and nothing into her skin.

They created weather together. Every touch of Peter's desperate fingers crackled with lightning. The heat of open-mouthed kisses birthed wildfires. Humidity hung against their slick bodies. Wind rushed from the canyons of their lips, leaving them without atmosphere to breathe. When Peter dove into her, the northern lights flashed in Michelle's eyes. They created oceans and mountains with their rhythm. Two tectonic plates crashing into the other with beautiful power. Sound and space collided into the melody of _I love you_.

After the crescendo where heaven and earth collided, she collapsed into a series of earthquakes. Him into a cacophony of volcanic eruptions. Tears and sweat mingled. Under the covers, Peter tucked his nose into the curve of Michelle's neck. He was still shaking, his hold on her as firm as it had been when they started. She swallowed hard, felt a similar tremor in her chest, and spoke, "I have to publish the article."

Peter nodded. His lashes fluttered against her skin. "I know."

Fatigue washed over her. Her fingers halted combing through Peter's hair. She rested her hand at the nape of his neck, her vision growing watery. Peter's thumb mopped up the stray tear rolling over her cheek, down her neck. "I don't want to do this without you," His eyes shot to her own, steady and strong. She looked away, realizing the gravity of her choices. Maybe she could've had a different life if she wasn't so stubborn. If she didn't need to uncover and investigate everything. Or, bring attention to the political and social injustices plaguing the planet. If only she didn't feel that unshakable need. But she did. Because if she didn't, she didn't trust anyone else to do it. Michelle trailed her eyes back to Peter's. "I know I'm a lot. I know it's a lot to handle. Most people at twenty-three don’t have these problems," But, most people weren’t investigative journalists in a relationship with Spider-Man. She placed an idle kiss against Peter's lips. “But I don't want you to leave me alone."

"I wouldn’t leave you, but I don’t want you to leave me alone, either." Peter returned the kiss, his fingers curling around her neck. He smelled sweet, pleasant like the rain. She filled her lungs with the smell of him. "You’re so strong. I know you can protect yourself, but I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe. To keep you alive. But you have to stay alive."

Michelle's eyes drooped of their own accord, but before sleep claimed her, she whispered, "I'll do my best."

She smiled into Peter’s chest as she drifted off. Safe for the moment.


End file.
